An Oath of Brothers

CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

Darius stood in the captured fort of Volkara, surrounded by his huge camp of soldiers, Dray at his side, and examined the scroll in his hands. He read it again, then a third time, wondering if it could be true. Ever since the falcon had arrived with it, he had been able to think of little else.

Could it be true? he wondered. At first he was certain it had been some sort of trick, or perhaps that he had misread it. But as he read it again and again, he felt it was true: this was a genuine letter from Godfrey, the Queen’s brother. Against all odds, somehow Godfrey, with his impossible mission, had succeeded. Darius could hardly believe that Godfrey, of all people, had come through. He had taken him for a drunk, perhaps even a fool—certainly not a competent warrior. It had taught Darius a great lesson—victory could come from the most unlikely of sources. Perhaps Godfrey had been right after all: there are many ways to win a war.

For the first time since this war had begun, Darius’s heart welled with optimism. Darius looked everywhere for Loti, wanting to share this good news with her and Loc, to embrace her, to see how elated she would be. He was puzzled that he could not find her anywhere, and he resolved to find her later.

Darius passed the scroll around, to Raj, Desmond, Luzi, Kaz, Bokbu, all of his brothers, all of the elders. Each examined it and clapped their hands in joy, before passing it on to the other. One by one the joy spread, and a wave of optimism began to spread throughout the camp.

Before this arrived, the camp had been filled with anxiety, hundreds of former slaves milling about, wondering how they would hold this fort, how they would ever attack Volusia. Darius had met with all his men, with all the village leaders, the elders, all of them arguing over what to do next. Some argued over different ways to attack Volusia. They all knew its walls would be too high to scale, that thousands of soldiers would await them with fire, with boulders, with a myriad ways to stop a siege. They all knew that they, former slaves, were not professional soldiers with the professional equipment needed to siege a city like Volusia. Many of them had argued not to attack at all; some argued to hold this fort they had captured, and others argued to abandon it. Any way they looked at it, it seemed clear to all of them that they would lose a great deal of men no matter what they did.

And now this. This missive, this falcon. An open door into the city. That was what they needed. A sign. A sign to move forward, to attack. They could take this city—Darius felt certain of it.

“Brothers and sisters!” Darius suddenly yelled, jumping up onto a boulder in the center of the fort, ten feet above the crowd, demanding attention.

One by one, they all turned and quieted, as the organized chaos turned to rapt attention, all eyes on Darius.

“Tonight, we shall march on Volusia!” he called out. “Sharpen your swords, prepare yourselves: tonight is our night for victory, and no one, not any man, will take it away from us!”

The crowd cheered wildly as everyone raised their swords and banged them together, a clanking rising up and spreading all throughout the fort. Darius heard the first true wave of optimism he had heard since he began this war. He could see that all these people now looked to him with trust. With confidence. They could all taste freedom, as he could. After all these years, all these generations, it was so close.

Just one final battle away.

Darius led the charge through the night, Dray beside him, heart slamming in his ears as he led his men out of the safety of Volkara, opening its massive gates, and into the open desert. Hundreds of men, swords in hand, followed on his heels. They ran quickly, barefoot, as Darius had ordered, stealthily through the night, racing over the hardened desert ground towards Volusia, looming on the horizon. Beside him ran Raj, Desmond, Kaz and Luzi, along with dozens of his brothers, all of them running for their lives. This, Darius knew, could be their last attack before being completely free men. Darius imagined liberating all the slaves inside Volusia, and it urged him on to run even faster.

As they neared the city, Darius turned and led his men into the woods surrounding it, entering through the trails for cover, weaving in and out in the direction of Volusia. Darius was scratched by branches, but he didn’t care; he took the trails, allowing them to lead him in a big circle around Volusia and toward its rear gate, as Godfrey had instructed.

Darius stopped and signaled for his men to stop behind him, at the periphery of the wood. He stood there, breathing hard, looking out at the city, tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword. He watched the black sky, waiting patiently for Godfrey’s signal.

Behind him he could hear all his men, breathing hard in the night, could feel their anxiety, their excitement. Their desire for vengeance. For freedom. Their desire to end this war with one great battle. It was a desire that Darius shared.

Darius stood there, sweating, trying to stem his hard breathing as he looked into the night, proud of his people for being so silent, so patient, as they waited. They had much more will and discipline than he could have ever imagined. They had become a true army, one village blending with the next, all fighting seamlessly together, all united under one cause.

“Did he say a torch?” Raj asked, staring at the sky with all the others.

Darius watched, too, and it felt like forever.

Darius nodded, watching the starlit sky for any sign. A million doubts and worries passed through his mind as he did. What if the letter was wrong? A fake? What if the signal never came?

“What if it was all just bluster?” Desmond asked the question on all of their minds. “The ramblings of a drunken fool?”

Darius stared into the night, wondering.

“He may be a drunk,” Darius said, “but he is the son of a King. Gwendolyn’s brother. I see more in him. I see a King in him. A soldier’s heart. He will come through.”

“I hope you’re right,” Kaz said. “We risk the lives of all of our people to put our faith in him.”

Darius stood there, watching the skies, his heart pounding in anticipation.

Godfrey, come on. Give me the sign.

Darius clenched and re-clenched the hilt on his word, his palms sweating, burning to use it.

Darius examined Volusia’s stone walls, its rear gate, a massive gate, soaring fifty feet high, made of solid iron. Darius found it strange that the gate wasn’t guarded. There should be dozens of guards both outside and inside it. He took hope in that. Perhaps Godfrey had paid off the right people in preparation.

Suddenly, Darius’s heart soared as a great light filled the night sky: Darius looked up to see a single torch, burning, high atop the parapets of Volusia. He saw Godfrey standing there, beneath its light, holding it high overhead.

Godfrey threw the torch down, the flames cutting through the black night, until it hit the ground.

“NOW!” Darius yelled.

Darius and all his men burst forth, out of the woods, sprinting out for the city gate, perhaps a hundred yards ahead. They all ran silently, none of them cheering, as Darius had instructed. He could feel the anticipation in all of their hearts, could feel his own blood pumping in his ears.

Darius ran and ran for the huge gate, closing the gap, ever closer, hoping and willing that it would open, as Godfrey had promised, and not leave them all trapped out there, exposed. It was a run of faith.

They came ever closer, running over the small drawbridge, over the moat, all of it unguarded, running the final thirty yards, then twenty….

Come on, Darius thought. Open the gate. Open it!

Finally, the gate began to open, as planned, slowly, with a creak, higher and higher, and Darius felt a rush of relief as he and his men reached it, clearing it just in time, not having to slow as they all kept running and poured right into the streets of Volusia.

Darius raced forward, right into the streets of Volusia, amazed to actually be inside this legendary city, this place that had been so feared by his people for so long. He went charging into the streets, sword held high, as did the others, expecting to surprise Volusian soldiers. They ran and ran, deeper into the streets, and everywhere he went, he was perplexed.

There were no soldiers anywhere. The streets were deserted. There was not a sound to be heard.

Darius finally came to a stop, realizing something was wrong. He turned around and looked back over his shoulder and saw all of his men, who had followed him into the city, standing there, holding their swords, equally puzzled. They all eventually turned and looked to him for answers.

Darius looked behind them and saw in the distance, outside the open gate, Zirk. He stood outside the city walls, the other half of the slave army with him. For some reason, he was not following them all in.

Darius looked at him, confused, trying to understand what was happening.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn tore through the night, followed by a great outcry, sounding like the battle cry of a million men, echoing off the streets of Volusia.

Darius turned and he felt his stomach drop as he saw an endless stream of Empire soldiers charging them, pouring in behind them through the open city gates, swords held high, blocking their exit.

There came another cry, and Darius turned to see Empire soldiers pouring in for them from every direction, every street of Volusia. There must have been thousands of them. And they were all waiting. They had all been prepared.

They swarmed through the city, closing in on them like ants. Darius turned in every direction, with dread, to see that his men were completely surrounded.

In moments, great cries rose up, as the Empire began slaughtering, closing in on his men left and right. A great wave of blood and destruction was coming toward them. And there was absolutely nowhere left to turn.

Darius looked up high at the city wall, and the torch was now extinguished. All he could see was Godfrey’s face, looking down, horrified, as if he, too, had been betrayed.

Darius could not believe it. He’d been led into a trap. He and everyone he knew and loved—all of them, all because of him. They’d all been betrayed. And now there remained nothing for any of them except cold, cruel death.

“So this is how it ends,” Raj said beside him, drawing his other sword, facing the oncoming army fearlessly.

Darius, too, drew his second sword, and prepared to charge the Empire. Dray, at his side, loyal to the end, snarled at the enemy and awaited Darius’ next move.

“We all knew we’d die someday,” Darius said. “Let us at least go down with valor.”

Darius and the others let out a cry, and he charged, Dray beside him, into the thick of soldiers, knowing death was but a moment away, and finally, after a lifetime of suffering, prepared to greet it.

Godfrey stood on the parapets of the rear gate of Volusia, Akorth, Fulton, Merek, and Ario on one side and Fitus on the other, joined by dozens of Finians—and he watched the scene below unfold in horror. His blood ran cold as he witnessed the slaughter below, not believing what he was seeing.

Godfrey was in shock; he had been so filled with optimism, so excited to see his men be free, their plan carried out perfectly. As he had stood there with the Finians and lit the torch and raised it high, he had been thrilled to watch it all unfold seamlessly. The back gate had opened, as the Finians had promised, and Darius’s men had rushed in. Godfrey was certain it was all over, that the city was about to fall.

Then he had seen Zirk remain behind, with half the soldiers, not pass through the gate, and it was the first sign of something awry. He had watched, numb, as thousands of Empire soldiers, clearly alerted to some other plan, had flooded into the gate, behind Darius’s men. They came pouring in with a great outcry, around the corners of the outside the castle, clearly having been lying in wait. It was all one huge ambush.

Godfrey had spun around, had watched in dismay as thousands more troops had flooded in from every corner of the city, completely surrounding Darius’s men. He heard the cries ring out, saw the slaughter begin, and he had finally had to close his eyes and look away, feeling as if he were being stabbed himself. He could not bear to watch all of Darius’s men, so close to freedom, all being murdered like animals—and all because of him.

Godfrey felt the torch being taken from his limp hand, too numb to react, and he looked over to see Fitus standing beside him; he took it and threw it down to the stone, and Godfrey watched the torch get extinguished beneath the starry night.

Godfrey, mouth open, stared back at Fitus, who stood there calmly, a slight smile on his face, staring back.

“Why?” Godfrey said, his voice too raspy, barely able to get out the words, realizing the Finians had betrayed him. “Why would you do this? I don’t understand.”

Fitus’s smile widened as he stood there, silent, cryptic.

Godfrey couldn’t believe how smug he was, couldn’t understand why he would do such a thing.

“You said you wanted the Empire killed,” Godfrey said. “You said you needed our men. I believed you.”

Fitus sighed.

“There was some truth to all those things,” Fitus finally replied. “I would have loved to see all the Empire killed. But it would never happen, not with your few hundred men. So I arranged the next best thing for our security: I used you as a pawn to lure Darius, then sold out your plot to the Empire, striking a new bargain with them. Now the Finians are assured security, and assured a place in this city’s history. Now we are untouchable.”

“And all my friends?” Godfrey asked, horrified.

He shrugged.

“Expendable,” Fitus replied. “Pawns in a greater game. Everyone dies,” he added. “Not everyone dies in the service of a game.”

“This is no game,” Godfrey insisted, red-faced, indignant, a great fury rising up within him, greater than he’d ever felt. “All those men down there are being slaughtered. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Fitus turned and looked down there, as if watching something of passing interest.

“Sacrifices are always made for the greater good. Your men, I’m sorry to say, are one of them.”

“But how could you do that? Those were all good men. Innocent men. You’ve denied them their dreams. You’ve denied them their freedom.”

Fitus smiled back at him.

“Oh, how foolish you are, Godfrey son of MacGil. Do you not know that freedom itself is a dream? None of us are truly free. Above all of us, there is some government, some ruler, some authority. Freedom does not exist. It is merely a commodity—to be bought and sold by the highest bidder.”

Fitus reached out and placed a hand on Godfrey’s shoulder.

“Look on the bright side,” he added. “You’re not down there with them. I like you, and I’ve decided not to have you slaughtered. You will live in safety. You will, of course, have to rot away in our dungeons. But I might even visit you once in a while. We can discuss our family histories.”

Fitus nodded, and Godfrey suddenly felt his arms grabbed roughly as soldiers descended on him from all sides, yanking his arms behind his back, shackling his wrists. Merek, Ario, Akorth, and Fulton, too, were pounced upon, all of them being dragged away with him.

For the first time in his life, Godfrey felt real grief, real shame; for the first time, he shook off his apathy and really cared. No longer was he the drunken and foolish tavern boy—now he was responsible for other people. All those men dying below, they were all his fault. They were all dying due to his stupidity. His naiveté. His trusting the wrong people. Godfrey realized what a fool he had been. He had been played

“NO!” Godfrey yelled as he was dragged away, his screams dwarfed by those below. “You will pay for this! By all the gods, I swear, you will pay for this!”

Fitus laughed, a menacing, hollow sound, fading as Godfrey was dragged further and further away.

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Fitus said. “I doubt that very much.”